Death by Haunting Page 7

  Catching my reflection in an antique mirror, I looked like the Cheshire Cat. I started humming the Pink Panther theme song.

  I pulled out two small paintings from Jean Louis’ collection and began photographing them from all angles. Then I turned the paintings over and photographed the backs and sides of the canvases in detail. With a small knife, I scraped off a few flakes of paint and cut a tiny piece of canvas from each painting, putting the scrapes into little plastic tubes that florists use to water cut flowers. Placing the paintings back exactly as I found them, I began photographing a larger canvas when I heard the Bentley.

  I shot a glance at the clock. Only an hour had passed since I entered the library. It was too early for them to be home. But the smooth purr of the Bentley was unmistakable.

  My heart was pounding as I put the painting back. I stuck the tubes behind some books and the camera in my pants pocket before I turned off the light and locked the library door.

  The back door opened and I heard June say, “I didn’t see a light on in the library. Are you sure you had turned it off?”

  Oh crap!

  Crossing the hallway I rushed into the formal parlor and made my way in the dark to the dining room and then to hallway of the west wing as heavy footsteps sounded on the marble hallway going in the opposite direction from me. I turned left and found the servants’ staircase and bounded up as fast as I could. It’s funny how adrenaline can really give a person that extra energy to get her caboose going.

  “Darn it. There’s something wrong with the elevator,” June uttered in consternation. “Jean Louis, can you go upstairs and see what the matter is. Maybe it’s stuck.”

  The echo of Jean Louis bounding up the staircase gave me chills. How could that fat pudgy elf move so quickly?

  I would never make it to my room in time. Shouldering a wall, I melted in with the shadows and kept moving until I felt a doorknob. I gave it a turn until the door opened. Silently I entered an empty bedroom and kept the door open just enough to see down the hallway toward the elevator.

  I watched Jean Louis surreptitiously glance down both hallways before stepping into the elevator. “Here’s the problem,” he called out. “The ON switch has been turned off.” After a few seconds, the elevator returned to life. It began to descend to the ground floor.

  “I bet Josiah turned it off accidentally,” June yelled up the staircase.

  Seeing my chance, I stepped out from the guestroom and turned on the hall lights. Leaning over the balustrade I blurted, “Someone say my name?”

  The elevator reached the ground floor with a shudder as Jean Louis stepped out. Both he and June looked up.

  “The elevator wasn’t working,” accused June.

  “It seems to be working now. You guys are home early.”

  “Jean Louis started feeling ill, so we came home.”

  “Did you happen to be in the library a few moments ago?” asked Jean Louis. “I thought I saw a light coming from the room as we drove up.”

  “Nope. Was in my room reading when I heard the car. Are you feeling better, Jean Louis? You don’t seem ill.”

  Waving his hands with a theatrical flourish, Jean Louis replied, “A mild headache. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not worried, Jean Louis.”

  Jean Louis’ eyes narrowed.

  I motioned to June. “If Jean Louis has a headache, he will surely want to go to his guesthouse. Come on up, June. You can tell me all about the party.”

  June bid Jean Louis good night as he kissed her gloved hand. She beamed with pleasure.

  Jean Louis gave me another spiteful glance before taking his leave.

  I threw him a kiss.

  He blanched.

  Gee, if looks could kill.

  I seemed to have a knack for pissing him off.

  I guess it was a gift.

  25

  After listening to June chatter for over an hour about the dinner party, I finally got her to bed.

  I was worn out. Glad to get to bed myself, I hurried down the hallway to my room.

  I should have been alert. I really should have. I really, really should have. But I felt safe.

  The lights were out in my room when I opened the door. “That’s funny,” I said to myself. “I thought I left them on.”

  That’s when I sensed someone behind me and heard a whoosh sound.

  Then my lights went out.

  26

  I remember only bits and pieces. I remember flashes of crawling. I remember struggling for my cell phone but it was out of reach on a table. I remember pushing the table over.

  I remember pushing a number on the phone. I remember saying the name Goetz. I remember hearing a siren.

  But that’s all.

  27

  Someone shook my shoulder and said, “Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”

  “Let me take a look at her.” Someone shoved a light in my face. “Follow the light, please.” Then it was, “Can you feel this?”

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  “In the emergency room.”

  “Goetz?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “You called me.”

  “Hey, that hurts,” I snapped at the doctor.

  “Only been conscious for a few seconds and already bitching. Seems normal. Can I take her home now, Doc?”

  “Yes, but someone needs to stay with her. If she vomits or feels dizzy, bring her back in.”

  “Sounds like a fun night,” groused Goetz.

  “What happened?” I asked as Goetz put a coat around my shoulders.

  “Someone rang your bell.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tapped you on the head. Remember anything?”

  I shook my head. “Ow, that hurts,” I cried, holding my head. There was a bandage on the back of my skull.

  “So don’t shake your head.”

  “You’re all sympathetic.”

  “I was just settling in for the night with a roast beef sandwich and my favorite TV show when you called.”

  “I called?”

  “You said my name and then the phone went dead.”

  “Oh.”

  “I first went to your house and couldn’t find you but that dog of yours ran up to Lady Elsmere’s house, so I followed. Otherwise I wouldn’t have found you.”

  “Baby?”

  “He’s okay. He’s with a woman named Bess. Oh, by the way, you’re going to have to get a new lock on your front door.”

  “Why?”

  “I shot the lock off.” Goetz hesitated for a few seconds. “You might need a new front door as well.”

  “Let me guess. You kicked in the door.”

  Goetz shrugged.

  “My knight in shining armor.”

  Goetz’s face morphed into a look of annoyance, then brightened when he realized that I was being serious.

  “How many women can say that a man shot and kicked in a door to save them. Quite sexy, reeeallleee,” I murmured, dozing off.

  Goetz shook me. “I doubt you will feel that way when you see the mess. Come on. Let’s get you home. I have to baby-sit you for the next twelve hours.”

  “What about work?”

  “I called in. I’m taking a personal day.”

  But I didn’t hear Goetz as I had fallen asleep.

  Goetz checked the time on his watch. He put my purse in my lap and held onto the back of my coat as he wheeled me out of the waiting room.

  Goetz seemed placid and almost serene but there was no mistaking the anger emanating from his eyes. He was going to find out who did this and beat the stuffing out of him . . . or as we say in the South . . . horsewhip him . . . or in less genteel circles . . . whup his ass.

  28

  I awoke to the sound of whining. It took a while to rotate my stiff neck toward the source of the irritating sound.

  It was Baby trying to jiggle the mattress with his head. When he saw my opened eyes, his tail pounded a deli
ghted dance upon the floor.

  This thumping did nothing to encourage the cats, either lying on my chest or along both sides of me, to move. I was covered in a furry shroud. They blinked their sleepy eyes as I shooed them, remaining in their comfortable positions.

  Baby licked my hand.

  “What time is it?” I glanced at my old-fashioned radio clock. It was the afternoon.

  Pushing the cats off, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Sitting for a moment, I reassessed my condition. I didn’t feel nauseous or dizzy or even constipated. That was always a plus . . . not feeling constipated.

  My landline phone was still on the nightstand.

  So far so good.

  Making sure the bedroom door was closed first, I dialed the number.

  One ring.

  Someone picked up on the other end.

  I whispered, “Rosebud.”

  A click sounded, ending the call. The person on the other end had hung up.

  Somehow, somewhere, someone would get a message to my daughter.

  And it would not be traced by anyone, as it was under the radar of modern technology.

  Sometimes the old ways are the best.

  29

  There was a knock on the door. “Are you decent?”

  “Who, me? Yeah, I’m decent.”

  Goetz opened the door and walked in. “The doc called and said your scans were fine. If you feel all right, I’d like to leave. Got things to do.”

  I was glad Goetz was going home. “No problem.” I followed him to the front door, which apparently had been repaired during my slumber. “Thank you for all your help.” I was about to close the door.

  He turned, facing me. “What’s the problem? Not good looking enough for you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve done everything but do cartwheels for you, lady, and I’m getting nowhere.”

  “I don’t know what you mean?”

  “You know damn well what I mean. There’s no sizzle, no juice from you.”

  “You want juice? Go to a juice bar.”

  “You owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

  Goetz shook his head. “If you only knew.”

  “I just got conked on the head and knocked out. How sexy can I be, you jerk? Is that why you’ve helped me through this? Thought I was gonna come out in a skimpy nighty and say, ‘Hey, Mister Policeman, thanks so much for helping little old me. Show me your nightstick!’”

  “I’ll show you something,” growled Goetz. Grabbing me, he enveloped me in his thick arms and tilted my head back.

  I pushed against him. “Let go,” I demanded. “You’re a pig.”

  “Shut up,” whispered Goetz. “You talk too much.” His lips pressed against mine.

  I started to struggle but his grip was like iron . . . and then I stopped. Goetz smelled like the ocean, big and expansive and full of life. I don’t know why the ocean smells like that, but it does.

  Jake had always reminded me of the woods. He smelled of moss, trees and dark, rich earth. But Goetz was the ocean. I felt my feet in hot sand and heard the crashing of the waves.

  Suddenly Goetz pushed me away.

  I jerked my eyes open and there standing in front of us was Eunice with an amused smile on her face.

  “She’s all yours,” seethed Goetz as he bounded to his car.

  “Someone’s got a bee in his bonnet today,” remarked Eunice before trotting into the Butterfly.

  Watching Goetz leave, I was very, very confused.

  30

  “You’re not going to sue, are you, Josiah?” inquired June before sipping her tea.

  We were seated in the library before a roaring fire.

  “I don’t think so, but a bauble or two might make me happy,” I replied, eying the ruby and diamond leopard pin climbing down her left shoulder.

  “Can’t you wait until I’m dead to get some of your little baubles? You know which jewelry I’m leaving you.”

  “Why wait?” I replied.

  Jean Louis snickered before biting into an English tea biscuit.

  “I still don’t understand what happened,” June pouted.

  “I told you. I slipped and as I was falling, I must have hit my head against the wall and checked out for a while,” I lied. I tried not to snarl at Jean Louis, who I think was the dirty rotten skunk who’d hit me.

  “It all sounds rather curious to me,” she sniffed, “but the important thing is that you are fine. It’s just so strange that the elevator had been turned off, and then your fall. Yes, the whole matter is rather odd.”

  “Let’s forget about it, shall we.”

  I could see that June sensed something about the story was fishy, but she decided to let it go. “If you say so.”

  “I do say so.”

  “Then I have something to announce,” she preened.

  “Oh dear. Now what,” I muttered with a sloppy grin.

  “Jean Louis has finished my portrait and it is sensational!”

  I spooned honey into my hot tea. “That’s great. Congratulations, Jean Louis.” It was all I could do not to reach over and slap his smug face.

  “Merci. I have finished a masterpiece for a great lady and now it is time for me to go home.”

  Alarmed, I almost dropped my tea. “You can’t do that,” I blurted out.

  Both Jean Louis and June looked startled at my outburst.

  “I mean, June . . . you should give Jean Louis a big sendoff . . . a ball. That way you could show off the portrait to everyone. It would be its grand introduction into the world. You could invite all the art people and the horse people. You haven’t had a formal ball for so long. It would be wonderful.”

  Jean Louis fluttered his pudgy little hands. “No. No. I have intruded on Lady Elsmere’s good graces for too long. I have finished my little masterpiece. Now I go home. No ball. No ball, please.”

  “I won’t hear of you leaving yet, Jean Louis. In fact I think the ball is a wonderful idea. And I’m going to hold up signing your check until the night of the ball, so you will have to stay.”

  Jean Louis gave June a nasty look before he mastered his emotions. It was only a split second but I caught it. “Then you hold me hostage. No money. I will have to stay until I collect, n’est-ce pas?”

  June’s wrinkled face beamed with joy. “Then it is settled. When shall we have it, Josiah?”

  I quickly tabulated how much time I needed . . . but not for a ball. “We can’t keep Jean Louis too much longer but this weekend is too quick. How about Saturday after next?”

  “That soon? I can’t put on a ball that quickly.”

  “I have a life, Madame. I need to get back to it,” pleaded Jean Louis. “Maybe I leave and then come back for the ball.”

  “I’ll compromise, Jean Louis. Just stay a few more days and I’ll throw a cocktail party. We’ll serve champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Plenty of chocolate. Everyone can see the painting. Then you can take a night flight.”

  “But what about the ball?” I whined. A few days simply would not give me enough time to set things up on my end.

  “We can’t keep this genius in Kentucky that long.” She turned to Jean Louis. “It’s selfish of me to intrude so on your time, but it would mean so much to me, Jean Louis . . . and I am paying you a lot of money.”

  “I would love it better if you paid in cash,” joked Jean Louis.

  We all twittered at that suggestion.

  “Now that it is settled that Jean Louis is staying for a few more days, I’m going upstairs to gather my things,” I announced while putting down my teacup.

  “Bess has your things in the kitchen,” said June. “She also has a pie for you to take home.”

  “Then I’ll just look around in my room to make sure she has everything,” I chirped as I rose.

  “I’ll go with you to help,” Jean Louis suggested, getting up from his chair.

  I swung around like a barnyard cat ready for a fi
ght. “I don’t need your help!”

  “Josiah!” gasped June.

  “I mean, thank you . . . but no. I need to do this alone. I need to be more independent. Face those demons by myself.”

  “I just thought you might need assistance. You don’t want to have another accident,” preached Jean Louis, looking smug again. He gave June a knowing glance.

  Oh, how I wanted to slap his face! I knew he was the one who had knocked me out. I hated his pretentious bloated face with his beady little rat’s eyes glaring at me.

  “I’ll be all right. But thank you for trying to help. You stay here and enjoy your tea with June. I’ll say my goodbyes now.” I kissed June on the cheek and left the room.

  I hurried up to the second floor in the elevator. Once out in the hallway, I leaned over the banister to make sure Jean Louis hadn’t followed.

  He hadn’t. I could still hear him talking to June in the library, which is why I had left the door open.

  Good. I hobbled into the bedroom where I had taken refuge that night. I silently closed the door trying to ignore that my left leg was hurting like the dickens. The doctor had put me on new pain medication. Obviously it wasn’t working. Maybe when I got home, I would medicate myself from my private stash of contraband . . . that is if I could even bend to get into the floor safe. I’m going to have to get a wall safe, I thought to myself. Another thought popped into my head. Concentrate. Concentrate on the task at hand.

  Going over to an eighteenth-century writing desk, I took out a drawer and then pushed on a tab under the desk.

  A secret panel popped open.

  Reaching into it, I pulled out my camera and put it into the pocket of my jacket. Opening the door just a bit, I peeked into the hallway. Seeing no one, I quickly limped down the servants’ staircase.

  Carefully negotiating the stairs, I made my way into the kitchen. “Hey, Bess,” I said. “I hear you have a pie with my name on it.”

  “Find anything upstairs?”

  I turned to find Jean Louis sitting at the kitchen table having a piece of pie with a cup of coffee. “I thought you were having tea with June. Wow, a piece of pie after afternoon tea.”